White as Night
by NotQuitePublished
Summary: There was something different about him. Something, but she couldn’t figure out what ... Hermione Granger finds herself caught up in the charms of the unlikely. But her flame has a dark secret, and now she finds her life in his hands.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One 

There was something different about him. Something, but she couldn't figure out what. His pale face, his immaculate white-blonde hair, his perfect posture. He was still gorgeous, graceful - _how does he manage to look like he's floating like that? _And still rude and smug as ever – _well, some things never change_. But still, there was something else...

"Hello – earth to Hermione," and with that, Hermione Granger snapped clean out of her trance and back to reality. Thin, lanky Ron Weasley looked confused. He immediately took to glancing in the general direction that Hermione's eyes were transfixed just moments before, trying to figure out what she was so interested in. "Ugh. Look at that Malfoy. I see he's grown some over the summer; I'm sure his ego's done some expanding as well."

Harry Potter let out a laugh of agreement, shook his head, and started off towards the direction of the Great Hall. The new first years would be coming in in just minutes, and Harry didn't want to miss the Sorting. That shabby old hat fascinated him. As he yelled for the other two to catch up, he noticed Sybil Trelawney, Divination professor, scurrying down the marble staircase, looking pale and frightened. If it were any other teacher, Harry may have been worried. But being that it was Professor Trelawney, Harry remained completely calm and simply avoided her as usual, not wanting to hear what would most likely come out of her mouth if he approached her – his own imminent, unavoidable destruction, probably by some out-of-this-world, surely impossible means. How exciting. And so, Harry hid behind a vast sixth year, successfully thwarting the loopy teacher.

* * *

As the students walked into the Great Hall and sat down at their House tables, a familiar sense of excitement and anticipation was in the air. The hall was buzzing. Talk of the coming year, noteworthy gossip of the past summer holiday, everyone catching up with old friends.

Soon, however, silence fell over the room, as the double doors crashed open and Professor Minerva McGonagall strode in sternly and with determination on her pointed face. Trailing behind her was a mess of wind-blown hair, a sea of faces flushed red with embarrassment and nerves.

"Fresh meat," Ron whispered to a tiny, mousy-haired boy. The child's freckles became even more pronounced as the color drained from his face and his eyes widened with fear. As the boy hurried away, taking care not to look back, Ron turned back to the table and let out a howl of laughter. Harry joined in and, his laughter contagious, caught his good friends Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnigan, and Dean Thomas up in the moment. The laughter ended as quickly as it began, with a single glare from Professor McGonagall. Ginny Weasley shot Ron a nasty look, muttered something under her breath, and turned back around to face the front of the hall, where the Sorting Hat was now singing its song.

* * *

After the last student was sorted, ("Young, Francis!" … "RAVENCLAW!") the feast began. And a feast it was. Harry shoveled food into his mouth like he hadn't eaten in months -which was entirely possible given his living situation, Ron had thirds of everything – as usual, and even Ginny filled and refilled her plate with yellow custard, her favorite, despite her compulsive remarks about watching her figure.

Hermione's food, however, remained untouched.

"'Mione, what are you gawking at?" Ron growled, annoyed. Hermione came back into herself and, thinking fast, pleaded with her friends.

"I'm sorry guys, my mind's just so cluttered and clogged. There's so much going on right now, I can't think straight!"

Ron spoke first. "Hermione, it's our first day back! We haven't even gotten our schedules yet." Under his breath, he added, "Can't say I was really looking forward to _this_."

Hermione glowered at the red-head. "Unlike _you_, Ronald, I have actual responsibilities at this school. _I_ can't go around this place goofing off, making a fool of myself, and acting like a complete and utter idiot like _you_ do so well!" Ron was taken aback. "And _besides_, you and I _both_ know that I'll have triple the work every night, seeing as how you and Harry can't seem to get anything done without me guiding you through it step-by-step!"

She realized that everyone around her was staring, and she suddenly felt ashamed. She didn't mean to be so cruel, and why she dragged Harry into it she had no idea, but the stunned look on everyone's faces brought her to her senses. She apologized lamely, explaining that she clearly has some kind of personality transplant over the break that she was, until now, completely unaware of. "It won't happen again," she assured them.

But the truth of the matter was, she had no idea why she was acting the way she was, what had caused her to snap at her very best friends like that. One second, she was studying Draco Malfoy, trying to figure out the change in him, and the next she was being pushed out of her dreamlike dissection – very rudely, she might add – by a snippy Ron. _He's still bitter because I turned him down this summer, that's all_, she thought to herself. _He wants all the attention on him. He needs the spotlight, he always has. He can't stand that something is more interesting than he is._

Hermione couldn't believe her own mind. What was wrong with her, why was she being so cruel? And since when was Draco Malfoy interesting, by any definition of the word, other than "adj. disgusting"? Even still, she couldn't figure out what was so different about him now – was there something missing? something new there? – whatever it was, the change was driving her crazy.

* * *

As they headed back towards their dormitories later on that night, commenting on the feast and comparing schedules, Hermione was pulled aside by Professor McGonagall. She looked exhausted, and shook her head as she spoke. "Apparently, it is now my responsibility to inform the Head Boy and Girl as to the whereabouts of their dormitories - " oh, that's right, she wouldn't be living in Gryffindor Tower anymore now that she was Head Girl, she forgot about that " – so I ask you to please follow me as I escort you to your room. Your things are waiting for you there, as you may have already guessed, and your new Hogwarts Head robes are in your dresser."

"As you can see, your room is not far from Gryffindor Tower by any means," she continued, "you may choose to spend your free time in the Gryffindor common room as you have the past years, or you may choose to retreat to your new room just ahead. I wouldn't suggest giving your password to anyone, friend or not. You do not want that information leaking out and making its way around the school. You will be sleeping here alone, and I don't want you or any of the valuable items in this room harmed."

Hermione shook her head in agreement, and followed McGonagall up the small spiral staircase in front of them. When they arrived at the small oak door, the Professor spoke the password ("Sugar swirls."), and the door opened to reveal the room.

It was incredible. The small, plain door to the room was absolutely no indication of what lay beyond it. The room had a golden glow about it, a warmth to it. The large four-poster bed in the center of the room was made up with mauve and cream bed dressings, and the curtains matched perfectly. The carpet looked soft as a cloud, and Hermione had to use all her willpower to keep from getting down on all fours and running her hands over it. Her things were placed neatly in each of her two dressers, and the small inset bathroom was immaculate and just the right size for a young lady. The room had a small sitting area, furnished with a cushy cranberry sofa (Crookshanks made a break for this particular piece of furniture, claiming it as his own), reclining reading chair, and an antique wooden rocking chair. Hermione let out a small squeak of excitement, and quickly ceased her bouncing up and down and turned around, embarrassed for showing such giddiness in front of a teacher.

But the Professor had a small smile on her face. "I'll leave you to get settled," she said, and walked away.

Hermione waited for the door to shut behind her, and took a running leap onto her new bed. It was unbelievably comfortable. _I definitely won't h__ave a problem getting to sleep __tonight,_ she thought.

* * *

After she finished admiring every nook and cranny of her room, Hermione headed down to Gryffindor Tower to fetch her friends – there was no way she was going turn in for the night without showing off her new room. She found Harry, Ron, and Ginny sitting in their usual place around the fire.

"Have a seat, Hermione?" Harry asked.

"Actually, I was hoping you three would come for a walk," Hermione replied. "I have something I'd like to show you."

They exchanged questioning looks; clearly wondering whether or not this "thing" Hermione wanted to show them had anything to do with her behavior earlier. Like a dark room, with a lock on the door, and hexes being thrown at them from every which way, turning them all into paperclips. They went along anyway.

As they reached the small door, Hermione took her time opening it – hoping to build the suspense. When she did, however, the three friends' eyes widened in awe. They ran into the room, each marveling over something different. As Hermione sat down on the bed, Harry came and sat down next to her.

"Hermione," he said. "This is a great room and all, but it just doesn't seem ... _you_."

Hermione looked surprised. "Harry, this room is _exactly_ me. Look around! The colors, the drapes, the fluffy pillows and carpet. Even the bathroom is perfect!"

Harry stared at her as if she had four heads. "Hermione, you _hate _green! And what drapes? The windows are bare! Are you feeling alright?"

The whole room was silent now, everyone looking at everyone with worried eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione said, defensively. Ginny came over and sat down.

"Harry honey, you know we love you and all, but I think you may be going slightly mad." Ginny patted him on the head, and spoke to him like he was a three-year-old.

"_WHAT _are you all _talking_ about?!"

The bickering went on for nearly twenty minutes. All got quiet when Hermione stood up, walked to the middle of the room, and looked around.

"I see what's going on here," she said. "This room is pleasing to the eye of whoever walks into it. Everyone who comes in here sees something different, according to what they like! This is incredible!"

The others looked bewildered. Hermione continued, "Harry. You see a green room, correct? And if you look over to that window, it's completely naked – no curtains, blinds, nothing?" Harry nodded, "Don't you see Harry! Your favorite color is green, and if you look through the window - " Hermione walked over and stood by the window " – Look! A perfect view of the Quidditch pitch!" Harry stood up and walked over to Hermione.

"Blimey! She's right!"

Hermione didn't stop there, "Ginny, I bet your room is pink, pink, pink – all fluff and ruffles." Ginny shook her head, excited. "And Ron – yours is covered with posters of that Quidditch team you're obsessed with!"

Ron scowled, "They're _called _the Chudley Cannons."

After a small celebration of their new hang-out spot, Harry, Ron, and Ginny went back down to the common room, leaving Hermione to bask in her new room once more before she went to bed. She heard the door click shut, and plopped down on the floor to enjoy the feathery-light carpet. With a smile on her face, she rolled over and hopped into bed.

As she dozed off, she couldn't help but think happy thoughts. Being back at Hogwarts - in her element, seeing her friends every day till the Christmas holiday ..

She drifted off to sleep, curled in a ball, covers wrapped tightly around her ..

* * *

That night she had the dream. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_The room was stark white. The walls, the floor, the table, chair, and lamp – white. White and perfect. The edges of the furnishings were just right, not too sharp or too dull – clean and streamlined. The corners found between the four walls formed perfect ninety-degree angles. The floor was impeccable – not a speck of dirt or dust to be found, and the pearly drapes hung closed and to the floor. The room had an eerie feel about it, it was almost too perfect. Even though the curtains were drawn, the room had an odd brightness to it - as if the ceiling were made of glass, or there was no ceiling at all. Hermione looked up as if to test this particular possibility, and blushed as she stared at the ceiling – solid and normal and white, white, white._

Enough of this,_ she thought. And with that, she turned around to head out the way she came in. Confusion colored her head as she stared at the solid wall she was now facing._

There's no door,_ she quivered. A quick wave of panic rushed through her, and she instinctively reached into her pocket. Gone. Her wand was gone. She whipped back around to face the room, frantic now for a way out._

_She jumped when she saw the boy._

_He was pale; almost as white as the walls around him. He lay in a heap on the hard floor. He was naked, curled in the fetal position, and still as stone. As Hermione took a step closer to him, she wished out loud that he was alive. What would she do if he was? Would her fate be the same?_

_She was now standing over the boy. She couldn't see his face, and she was too afraid to even say his name for fear there would be no answer – turning him over or checking his pulse was completely out of the question. She looked all around her, for what she didn't know – perhaps a clue as to what to do next. Her eyes fell on a set of drapes._ Hurry, Hermione, climb out the window and get help, _she thought to herself. _Why didn't I think of that before? _She ran to the curtain, pulled it aside, and screamed in horror. The solid wall behind the curtain was stained red. Streaks and splatters of blood covered the wall, and towards the ground – the imprint of a small hand. Hermione doubled over and swayed slightly. The room began to spin slowly, beads of sweat formed on her forehead. She suddenly felt cold as ice. It wasn't long before Hermione found herself on her hands and knees, gagging and heaving, vomiting on the perfect floor. Kneeling in her own sick, Hermione struggled for breath._

_Suddenly, in a panic and running solely on adrenaline, she ran to the next set of drapes. As she ripped them aside, her breath caught in her throat as she gawked at the all-too-familiar scene in front of her. Nearing hyperventilation, she ran from curtain to curtain, pulling each aside with fear and alarm and anger – nothing changed._

* * *

_She reached the final curtain and nearly tore it down with force. __Hermione gasped at the sight of the clear white wall in front of her. She closed her eyes, turned around, and leaned back against the freezing wall. A blend of emotions ran through her, though she couldn't recognize a single one – relief? disgust? horror? She knew this wasn't ideal, but she was overwhelmed by all of the sensations passing through her body at once, and the clean wall gave her some sense of hope._

_As her breathing steadied, she slowly opened her teary eyes. She choked on the air, her eyes widened with terror, and her blood ran cold. There in front of her, not three yards away, was the boy._

_He was standing now, but not entirely straight. He was crouched down, and looked about to pounce. His posture certainly scared her, but that was nothing compared to the face that started back at her. His features were hollow and sharp. His eyes were a dark gray – almost black, and they stood out even more amongst his pale white skin._

_And he smiled a twisted, evil smile. And his mouth was filled with blood red teeth._

* * *

Hermione woke with a start. Soaked through with sweat, eyes watering and mouth dry, she attempted to untangle herself from the mess of sheets she found herself in. She looked to her left and saw Crookshanks peering at her questioningly. "Oh, no need to help, I'm sure I'll manage," she muttered, still struggling.

Once she finally freed herself, she paused at the foot of her bed, wondering what exactly to do next. She thought back to her nightmare and shuddered a bit. Where all that came from, she had no idea. She wasn't sure who she should mention it to; she was walking on eggshells with her friends as it is. She decided she would ask Harry about it casually, in passing, just to get it off her chest. He would be the most logical, and perhaps least judgmental, and say nothing more than some reassuring words to calm her shaken nerves. If she mentioned it to Ron, he would most likely complain that she was dreaming about other men, and miss the point completely. Ginny, on the other hand, would try to find some divine subliminal meaning behind it, which Hermione didn't believe in.

For the first time, Hermione looked over at the clock by her bed. _Only three hours,_ she thought. _I've only been in bed for three hours._ She rolled her eyes and muttered a quick charm to dry her damp clothes, took a sip of water, and laid down – knowing full well she wasn't getting that great nights' sleep she had planned on. Still, she closed her eyes, and tried to keep the image of the bloody walls and that evil face from entering her mind once more. Eventually calming down, Hermione fell into a rough, shallow sleep.


End file.
